Thursday, April 29, 2010

Reading, Ideals and Depression

In a post about ethical criticism, Jessica has outlined different possible ways in which to approach the ethical criticism of literature. In her own ethical criticism Jessica herself does not intend to examine the possible 'consequences' that reading may cause, 'for example, causing readers to accept morally salutary or problematic attitudes'. Nonetheless, she notes that

Romance readers talk a lot about the good effects of romance reading on their beliefs, attitudes and desires. They might say reading romance has helped them to be better communicators, to understand men, to demand their due from their partners, to get in touch with their sexuality, etc. That’s cool. But if we are going to do that, we also need to consider whether romances have had any negative effects. In other words, if you are going to play the “effects on readers game” you cannot rule out a priori (for example, by saying things like “Women are not just passive readers, i.e. dopes. We know the difference between fantasy and reality. Don’t infantalize and patronize us.”) any and all claims about negative effects on readers of romance novels.

Consider: how could it be that you only learned good or positive things from romance novels?

There are two options, as far as I can see. (1) Romance novels, the entire genre, only endorse good positive healthy attitudes towards gender, romance, love, sex, and everything else they take as their subjects (however those good attitudes are defined). That seems manifestly unbelievable to me, given my own experience as a romance reader, and given how large and diverse the genre is. That comes close to saying there is only one romance novel – one very morally good romance novel — and it has been written over and over.

Or (2) you know quite well that there is a lot of stuff you wouldn’t endorse in a romance novel, some of it apparently endorsed by the (implied — more on that later) author, but either (a) you don’t read those books, or (b) if you do, you don’t “learn anything” from them, because you filter the bad stuff out. Ok, but then, you aren’t “learning” anything from romance novels. Rather, you are applying a moral framework you already possess to your selection of texts, or to your reading of texts, only letting what you have already decided are “good” messages in. In that case, it would be more accurate to say that your reading of romance novels reinforces or deepens or lends specification to moral beliefs you already hold. I think that is much closer to what is really happening, personally. But if it is, then we have to accept that if a reader holds pernicious moral beliefs, she can find some warrant, some deepening, reinforcing or specifying, of those bad moral beliefs in romance novels, too.

My feeling, as I mentioned in my response to Jessica's post, is that while of course we can try to select books which don't contain material which we'd find particularly distressing and/or offensive, it's likely that we're still going to come across 'bad stuff' in many novels and I'm not at all convinced that we can succeed in filtering all of it out all of the time.

The good effects of the genre have often been described in terms related to depression and its cure:

Alan Boon, the acknowledged genius behind [...] Mills & Boon romance, admitted the restorative quality of the novels which he edited for some forty years: 'It has been said that our books could take the place of valium, so that women who take these drugs would get an equal effect from reading our novels.' (McAleer 1999: 2)

Valium, though, like most other medicines, can have some unpleasant side-effects. In other words, the 'good stuff' may also contain some 'bad stuff'.

"There's still this idea that you've got to be a wonderful mother, but you also have to have a brilliant career, and you've got to look attractive all the time," she says. "There is no way that you can maintain that and bring up children. But it's still being presented to women all the time, in every magazine, on every screen, that you should."

In the same article 'The former Scotland editor of the Observer, Lorna Martin, [who] wrote Woman on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown' is quoted as saying that:

"There's massive pressure on women these days to hold down a good, rewarding, fulfilling job, but also to be a good mother, and then to look good, and to look after yourself. I think there comes a point where your body can't take it."

In other words, it's suggested that popular culture may contribute to the creation of depression. Could romance, the 'valium' of popular culture, do this too? I suppose it depends on how much you think fiction can influence readers and whether you agree with Rowe that the depictions of women 'in every magazine, on every screen' (and, presumably, in many books) create or sustain ideals which are difficult for real women to meet, and can therefore contribute to depression. What I think is certain is that there are plenty of romances whose heroines have fulfilling jobs/hobbies/work in their communities, are (or it's implied will be) wonderful mothers, and are beautiful/well-groomed/very attractive to their spouse or partner.

Is it possible that these heroines add to the pressure on women to live up to a particular ideal of womanhood? I think they may. The presence of gender stereotypes in romances between heterosexual protagonists is something that I've seen mentioned as one of the reasons why some women may prefer to read and/or write romances between male protagonists. Unfortunately I didn't keep track of the urls where these comments were made, and I'm certainly not saying this is the main, or only reason, for the popularity of m/m romance. But if at least some readers are choosing m/m over f/m and f/f in order to avoid gender stereotypes about women, then that would be an example of how readers can filter/select their reading material in order to block out what they feel is 'bad stuff'.

There appear to be several taboo topics in romance novels. One of these is depression. If we assume it is something we are all likely to experience at some point in our lives, to one extreme or another, it surprises me that it is not an issue which romance authors are prepared to tackle. [...] I’m talking about a story which focuses on the sort of character who is largely ignored and immediately dismissed as dislikeable because they languish on the sofa and require smelling salts. Wouldn’t it be interesting to find out why they are way they are? Don’t they also deserve a HEA?

I think they do.

Which is perhaps why I found Julia Quinn's To Sir Phillip, with Love very difficult to read. I'll leave you with a quote from the prologue and you can decide for yourself if you think it's an example of 'bad stuff'. The prologue gives the reader some information about Sir Phillip's dead wife Marina:

Marina had been melancholy. Marina had spent her entire life, or at least the entire life he'd known, melancholy. He couldn't remember the sound of her laughter, and in truth, he wasn't sure that he'd ever known it.

Nowadays, I'm fairly certain a character like Marina would be recognised as having clinical depression. After Marina has attempted suicide by throwing herself into the lake, Sir Philip thinks

How dare she refuse his rescue? Would she give up on life just because she was sad? Did her melancholy amount to more than their two children? In the balance of life, did a bad mood weigh more than their need for a mother? [...]

"I can't," she whispered, with what seemed like her last ounce of energy.

And as Phillip carried his burden home, all he could think was how apt those words were.

I can't.

In a way, it seemed to sum up her entire life.

The heroine of the novel is not the depressed Marina. She dies and is replaced by the cheerful, competent, intelligent, Eloise whom Sir Phillip finds very attractive and who knows how to manage his rebellious children perfectly.----

32 comments:

I know I constantly feel the urge to write unconventional gender relations. Many have this desire, I suspect, but it's difficult to negotiate it amid the forest of genre conventions, market forces, and probably a whole raft of other factors.

I had forgotten about that Quinn novel--Marina's depression was depicted more for its effect on the hero than on Marina herself.

I do certainly think it's possible for romance novels to contribute to depression, particularly for those who are already depressed or prone to depression. The more idealistic the heroine's life, the larger the gulf between her life and any given reader's life.

Very interesting post. I won't argue that I find some romance novels problematic. I'd say that of ANY kind of writing--any genre or supposedly "pure" literary fiction. What I do like about romance novels are the concept (in general) of people taking action--rather than simply reacting to life. Romance novels as an exploration of possibilities if you will.

Are they perfect? No. I do, however, see the genre evolving. When I began reading/writing romance novels some 30 years ago, one didn't see African-American romance novels. Now there are entire imprints--though bookstores choose to shelve them with African-American literature rather than in the romance section. I know of romances with Indian, Native American, Arab, Asian, Hispanic main and secondary characters portrayed in very favorable ways. I've seen the types of characters change as well as attitudes toward handicaps (mental and physical), gender identity and sexual orientation, etc.

I suspect what you see from people posting in defense of romance novels is NOT an attempt to say that romance novels are perfect but rather a response to a frequently encountered attitude that ALL romance novels are bad or worthless.

On the To Sir Phillip With Love point, there are two (or more) sides to looking at depression - one is the sufferer's view and the other is the view of those who have to live with the sufferer. Whilst this was not explored in any great detail in TSPWL, I personally quite appreciated getting the POV of the powerless-to-help husband of a sufferer of depression even after his wife's death.

Having said that, I don't necessarily disagree that such a text may well contribute to a message about what a good woman/lover/wife is.

As you know, I don't spend overmuch much time wringing my hands over bad messages in my reading material but it's not infrequently that I balk/blink/frown at what I'm reading. Does this happen more often in romance novels than in other forms of fiction? I think it probably does - for a number of reasons probably.

'it's difficult to negotiate it amid the forest of genre conventions, market forces, and probably a whole raft of other factors'.

One other factor I can think of is that writers are exposed to much the same barrage of complicated messages and ideals as their readers. Even independent-minded individuals can still find it extremely difficult, if not impossible, to completely shake off deeply embedded social norms. And as you say, even if a writer does manage it herself on a personal level, there are things like genre norms and market forces to think about.

'Marina's depression was depicted more for its effect on the hero than on Marina herself'.

Yes, I'd agree with that. In that respect she's a bit like Bertha, Mr. Rochester's wife in Jane Eyre.

'The more idealistic the heroine's life, the larger the gulf between her life and any given reader's life'.

I wonder if the effect of the size of the gulf varies between readers. On the one hand, if there's a large 'gulf between her life and any given reader's life' that could make the reader very dissatisfied with herself and her own life. But on the other hand the reader might feel under less pressure to be like the heroine.

Despite the fact that I quoted from a historical romance, I find it's more often contemporary romances which really bring me up against norms/ideals with which I can't or don't conform. In a historical, I can push many of the 'bad things' to one side by ascribing them to the historical period in which the novel is set. With contemporaries, that isn't a possibility.

'What I do like about romance novels are the concept (in general) of people taking action--rather than simply reacting to life. Romance novels as an exploration of possibilities if you will.'

Austen's Anne Elliot in Persuasion is, I think, a character who, mostly, reacts to other people's actions. She doesn't strike out boldly on her own, she mostly doesn't tell other people what she thinks of them, but she has a quiet strength and endurance that I find admirable.

'I do, however, see the genre evolving'.

I very much agree that it has been changing, in all the areas you mention.

'I suspect what you see from people posting in defense of romance novels is NOT an attempt to say that romance novels are perfect but rather a response to a frequently encountered attitude that ALL romance novels are bad or worthless'.

Again, I think you're right. I very much doubt that even the most ardent and enthusiastic defender of the genre really believes that every single romance is perfect.

I can understand the urge to stress the positive when writing or discussing the genre. I feel it myself, and as you say, it's a response to the knowledge that the genre has so often been denigrated. I don't particularly want to give anyone extra ammunition which they might use to attack it. But, from an academic point of view, I would feel dishonest if I didn't mention the fact that some elements of the genre can be problematic.

'there are two (or more) sides to looking at depression - one is the sufferer's view and the other is the view of those who have to live with the sufferer. Whilst this was not explored in any great detail in TSPWL, I personally quite appreciated getting the POV of the powerless-to-help husband of a sufferer of depression even after his wife's death'.

I can see that, but at the same time, if the reader feels more like Marina than like Eloise or Phillip, the reader may conclude the following:

(a) depression is considered by some people to be similar to 'a bad mood.'(b) it is selfish to commit suicide(c) but nonetheless it would actually benefit one's family in the long-run because then the remaining parent could find a new, ideal spouse.

There's a particularly cruel irony in the juxtaposition of (b) and (c). Obviously, I'm only one reader, and it may be that I'm the only one to whom these conclusions would occur. I don't have any knowledge of other people's reactions to the novels.

Obviously, I'm only one reader, and it may be that I'm the only one to whom these conclusions would occur. I don't have any knowledge of other people's reactions to the novels.

No, no, those conclusions occured to me too, and I suspect the novel would have really bothered me if I'd been depressed when I read it, as opposed to having previously experienced depression. Despite the fact that I'd been relatively happy for several years when I first read the book, it still really bothered me. "Oh, great," I thought, "another side character with a mental illness who killed themselves and really hurt their family in the process. Yippee." Though I felt that TSPWL was, in some ways, less judgmental than other novels I've encountered with similarly "moody" side characters, it struck me as another case of Using The Crazy Person To Traumatize A Protag. And while Tumperkin does have a good point - living with someone who is depressed can be very hard, and it was interesting to see how it affected the whole family - there was something I found very troubling about the way it was done.

In fact, part of the excerpt you used really sums everything up: Would she give up on life just because she was sad? Did her melancholy amount to more than their two children? In the balance of life, did a bad mood weigh more than their need for a mother? People believe this. Many, many people in the real world think that depression is just about being sad and that those who have it should just snap out of it. So to have a character in a book by an incredibly popular author think the same things may have been accurate, but also reinforced the things that those of us who have depression have been hearing for years. And if you look at the whole book, then, yes, it does seem that Marina just gave up, that she didn't love her children enough, and that by her being gone, her whole family became happier.

Laura, you talked about the irony of the juxtaposition of two of the conclusions that you listed, and while I do appreciate it, I think that the two also work together in a very negative light. On the one hand, it's funny, but on the other hand, one could also read it as saying that if you're so selfish as to commit suicide, you don't deserve to be alive. You're a bad person who hurts your family and they really would be better off without you. And it's not as if it's just Marina actually killing herself that hurts the family - no, her very day-to-day life makes the house gloomy and is a general emotional burden. When you're suicidal, you often hate yourself so much that you often think others must hate you too, and it's common to think they'd be better off without you, which, to some degree, the book actually reinforces.

I'd love to see a character who is depressed and who still gets their happy ending without causing that kind of pain to others. Who doesn't just play a role in making the protags who they are but actually is a protag, who functions despite their depression because many people do still live their daily lives while depressed, and who isn't "cured" by the power of luuuuuuurve.

And I think the fact that this character hasn't been written and probably never will be says a lot about the genre as a whole, and does send a very strong message to readers.

'Laura, you talked about the irony of the juxtaposition of two of the conclusions that you listed, and while I do appreciate it, I think that the two also work together in a very negative light. On the one hand, it's funny, but on the other hand, one could also read it as saying that if you're so selfish as to commit suicide, you don't deserve to be alive.'

That's exactly why I wrote that I saw 'a particularly cruel irony' in those conclusions. They set up a scenario which reminds me of the one in Catch 22 which I haven't read but which Wikipedia summarises like this:

"Unfit" would be any pilot who is actually willing to fly such dangerous missions: as one would have to be mad to want to take on such missions.

But the "problem" is that to be declared "unfit", he must first "ask for evaluation", which is considered as a sufficient proof for being declared "sane". These conditions make being declared "unfit" impossible.

The conclusions (b) and (c) which I identified could work in a similar way. First, it's implied that it's selfish to be depressed or commit suicide. But at the same time, the conclusion one might draw from the narrative as a whole is that the one thing that a depressed person could do which would benefit their family, is to commit suicide. Unless you just snap out of your 'bad mood', which of course you can't do, because depression isn't a 'bad mood'. So, selfish if you do, selfish if you don't.

It's a Regency-set historical, so one wouldn't expect Marina to be offered the treatments for depression that we have today. Nowadays Marina could have got medical/psychological help. Unfortunately, though, the mistaken belief that depression is just a sort of 'bad mood' does exist in contemporary society and is very damaging to people with depression. The Tavistock and Portman NHS Foundation Trust, for example, have a page on which they list and refute several of the 'myths' about depression and the idea that 'Depressed people are weak. They could snap themselves out of their bad mood if they just concentrated on being positive' is one of those myths.

'When you're suicidal, you often hate yourself so much that you often think others must hate you too, and it's common to think they'd be better off without you, which, to some degree, the book actually reinforces'.

'some potential signs of suicide include: [...] Statements about feeling burdensome to others, such as "People would be better off if I were not here; I feel as if I'm a burden to my family/friends."'

Although there's some acknowledgment in To Sir Phillip, with Love of the fact that Marina 'was, deep down, beneath her unshakable cloak of sorrow and despair, a good and fine person', Phillip 'didn't love her, had never really loved her' and after her death one of the children concludes that '"If she's happy now," she said, "then I'm glad she's gone."'

It presents a stark contrast to this 'true life' account of "Life after suicide in the family" which presents the suicidal depressed person as someone who was very much valued and loved, and who had much to offer to their family.

Is the purpose of romance fiction to teach a reader? Does one read romance fiction to learn?

If things must end happily for the protagonists, questions of morality and immorality, ethical and non-ethical actions almost have to be set aside at some point, if the happy ending is to be achieved. Readers may find fault with that, as many do, for example, with M.J. Putney's "Dearly Beloved" or Linda Howard's "Death Angel," but in what other way could the author possibly have brought the happy ending about except by asking the reader to do just that?

As I wrote in an earlier post, I've reached the conclusion that different romances may have different purposes.

'Does one read romance fiction to learn?'

Some people may do, others may not. And learning may be a side-product of reading for entertainment. Both Janice Radway and Lynn S. Neal spoke to readers who felt they'd learned things from romances.

'If things must end happily for the protagonists, questions of morality and immorality, ethical and non-ethical actions almost have to be set aside at some point, if the happy ending is to be achieved.'

I do know what you mean about TSPWL. I'd forgotten that there were other views on Marina than Sir Phillip's till I read these comments.

It comes back to this idea we've spoken of before of the author lens that sometimes overlies the book. If a particular character's views are depicted in a deep-POV, then those views don't (to me) *feel* like they're reflecting anything other than the character view. However, when you get the same message popping up in other characters' heads or even between the lines, with no real contradiction, then that begins to give you the sense of an authorial view coming across and I don't like that - particularly on matters I disagree with *g*. However, I wouldn't go so far as to say that an author should give a balancing view in a book - in fact I'd strongly argue otherwise.

I'm curious about how you see a romance featuring a depressed heroine playing out. Having suffered from clinical depression many times, I find it hard to imagine a compelling story around it. Listlessness and bad hygiene are not exactly interesting to read about, much less romantic. :-\ The main feature of depression, at least IME, is that it's very, very hard to do anything. The best description I ever read of being depressed was something like, "When you're depressed, you could have a magic button marked 'push this to cure your depression!' and you still wouldn't push it."

I was not at all offended by the depiction of Marina. I felt sorry for her and for her family, for living in a time when there was no understanding and no help.

I think it's also worth making a distinction between depression with a reasonable cause (such as feeling like you don't measure up) and clinical depression, which seems to be largely chemical in nature. Marina may well have suffered from biologically based post-partum depression. --willaful

'If a particular character's views are depicted in a deep-POV, then those views don't (to me) *feel* like they're reflecting anything other than the character view.'

I'm not entirely sure what you mean by 'deep-POV' but I certainly don't think one should blithely make assumptions about authors and their beliefs on the basis of what their characters say or do.

However, there are certain conventions in the romance genre, and one of them seems to be that the main characters have something heroic/admirable/sexy about them and/or are characters readers can 'relate' to. So the kind of protagonists an author chooses to write about in a romance may imply something about the author's view of what's heroic/admirable/sexy/relatable. Or it may just reflect what the author thinks will sell. I'm sure there are other possibilities.

Of course romance protagonists can and do have flaws, and the author may be striving to achieve realism by making a character have views which are realistic for his/her social milieu/time period etc. Nonetheless, in the context of the romance genre's convention about the protagonists being heroic/admirable/sexy/relatable if a protagonist makes sexist, racist, homophobic or other problematic statements which a reader finds troubling and which the character doesn't later retract, it may make the reader wonder whether the author's choice to make this particular character a romance-genre protagonist does, in fact, imply something about the author's own views.

That said, I'm not interested here in trying to psychoanalyse authors. I don't feel qualified to do that. I apologise if I've ever stated things about an author's personality or views for which I have no good evidence. However, if authors do make statements about themselves, their lives, or their views, I may well find it interesting to see the extent to which their fiction reflects those things.

My main interest is in texts and so I'm concerned here with thinking about what those 'bad things' mentioned by Jessica might be.

I'm also not professionally qualified to study readers. I do speculate about how some readers may respond, but I always do that while bearing in mind the fact that I am a sample of one, and am therefore not necessarily representative. That said, since this is a blog rather than an academic paper, I do feel free to indulge in a bit of speculative thinking about how (some) readers may be affected by, and respond to, 'bad things' which are embedded in the texts. One of the reasons I feel it's OK to do that here is because the readers of this blog are also usually romance readers, and so I hope they'll set me right and/or provide alternative viewpoints if my speculations about readers are not borne out by their experiences.

Incidentally, I find perfect competent heroines in romance annoying, but not depressing. I don't expect to be like them, any more than I expect my husband to have a perfect body and 14 erections a day. ;-) --willaful

I'm curious about how you see a romance featuring a depressed heroine playing out. Having suffered from clinical depression many times, I find it hard to imagine a compelling story around it.

I write literary criticism, not fiction, for the very good reason that I'm really, really bad at imagining fictional things to write about. So in this case my thoughts on a possible plot don't go beyond 'I would like to read a romance in which at least one of the protagonists is, or has been, depressed'.

One romance which was described by one reviewer as having a heroine who, at the start of the novel, 'has been divorced for over a year and clinically depressed for most of that time' is Jennifer Crusie's Fast Women.

Listlessness and bad hygiene are not exactly interesting to read about, much less romantic. :-\ The main feature of depression, at least IME, is that it's very, very hard to do anything.

This is definitely not my field of academic expertise, but I do know that not everyone with clinical depression behaves or feels exactly the same way. I found a table in Aaron T. Beck and Brad A. Alford's Depression: Causes and Treatment (Philadelphia, Pennsylvania: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2009) which shows the 'Frequency of Clinical Features of Patients Varying in Depth of depression' (39). Although more of the patients with severe depression had most of the features listed, not all of them had demonstrated all of the features listed, and in patients with mild depression, very significant proportions did not demonstrate some of the features listed.

Beck and Alford also write that although many patients looked sad, 'many patients conceal their unpleasant feelings behind a cheerful facade ("smiling depression")' (39) and an anonymous account at NetDoctor describes the feelings of someone who says that they 'have never told anyone how I feel and no-one has guessed because I usually manage to hide the way I am feeling'.

'I think it's also worth making a distinction between depression with a reasonable cause (such as feeling like you don't measure up) and clinical depression, which seems to be largely chemical in nature.'

As I said, it's not my area of expertise and so I can't comment on the causes of depression. However, Chapter 1 of Beck and Alford's book opens by stating that

There is [...] an astonishing contrast between the depressed person's image of him- or herself and the objective facts. A wealthy woman moans that she doesn't have the financial resources to feed her children. A widely acclaimed movie star begs for plastic surgery in the belief that he is ugly. An eminent physicist berates himself "for being stupid." (3)

This makes me think that it's not a simple matter to separate out things like feelings that one doesn't 'measure up' from other aspects/causes of depression. Beck and Alford add that

Although depression (or melancholia) has been recognized as a clinical syndrome for over 2,000 years, as yet no completely satisfactory explanation of its puzzling and paradoxical features has been found. There are still major unresolved issues regarding its nature, its classification, and its etiology. (3)

baka-kit, on that note, I was just thinking about The Potrait by Megan Chase, which is a historical with a manic-depressive hero. I was very skeptical going in, but IMO, she makes it work. The relationship that develops actually reminded me a fair bit of me and my husband, with the sex roles reversed. -- willaful

@L. Vivanco: If emotional justice means that the person achieving it has arrived at some desired emotional state, (the hea?) that state can as readily be achieved by what most would view as unethical actions as ethical ones. The questions posed in the original post suggested that some romances might have bad effects because they might re-inforce morally questionable actions or positions. I agree. I see the requirement of the HEA as the primary cause for that possibility. The HEA enchants authors and readers alike, allowing otherwise questionable scenarios to be overlooked--as in Putney's "Dearly Beloved" in which the rapist achieves happiness; as in Howard's "Death Angel," in which the professional assassin does.

I don't think the majority of readers read and enjoyed either of these novels expecting to be taught anything nor to learn anything, for if there is a lesson in either Putney's or Howard's novels, the primary one is that morally repugnant actions pay in the end.

All fiction, by its nature, is tinged with amorality, I think; perhaps romance fiction, because it is essentially, fantasy, has a heavier tint.

'I think any historical featuring a depressed heroine (or hero, for that matter) risks being problematic. Love doesn't magically fix the chemical imbalances in the brain that cause depression'.

If it did, then people who love and are loved by their partner/spouse/family/friends would never get depression, and they often do. So obviously love alone isn't enough to prevent or cure depression. But there are significant variations in how people experience depression and many people improve without needing medication (though they may need other forms of treatment). So I'd find it believable if, say, someone with relatively mild depression got better over the course of a historical romance. One Mary Balogh heroine I've come across pretty much embodies the principles of cognitive behavioural therapy so I can imagine that a character like her could, perhaps, help another character recover from depression.

'If emotional justice means that the person achieving it has arrived at some desired emotional state, (the hea?) that state can as readily be achieved by what most would view as unethical actions as ethical ones'.

My feeling on this, which I have expressed loudly and often, is that the romance novel is based on the idea of an innate emotional justice in the universe, that the way the world works is that good people are rewarded and bad people are punished. The mystery genre is based on the same assumption, only there it’s a moral justice, a sense of fair play in human legal interaction: because the good guys risk and struggle, the murderers get punished and good triumphs in a safe world. So in romance, the lovers who risk and struggle for each other and their relationship are rewarded with emotional justice, unconditional love in an emotionally safe world.

As for the examples you give, it seems to me that themes of redemption are very common in the genre (a protagonist being saved by the love of a good woman/man).

I think Ms. Crusie's comment does not define "good" and "bad" people sufficiently. That the heroes in the two examples achieve redemption and are thus rewarded, does not mean that they've been treated justly, for both--one an assassin, the other a rapist--are surely, by anybody's definition, "bad" people. My point, though, is that romance fiction, because of the HEA cannot be concerned with anything BUT "emotional" justice. True or real or actual justice must be tempered to such a degree that it has no effect.

Even though its effects may be good, fiction lies. Isn't achieving a good effect through bad means amoral? Plato thought so.

Oh, dear. Am I alone in finding Alan Boon's comment about his books being Valium disturbing? It smacks of the idea of medicating women into submission.

Romance: Mother's Little Helpers in Book Form!

Is your little lady tired, listless, unduly concerned about the massive injustices of her life? Buy her a Mills & Boon and see the change it will work in her! She might even want some lovin' after doing the dishes! ((nudgenudge))

Plato was (1) a despicable misogynist who (2) thought banning poetry would be a fine idea.

I can't see how you might intend anything positive out of citing him as an authority in a comment on a blog that it pro-woman if not woman-centric, and dedicated to the work of academics on literature, some of whom even dare to study the damn'd work of poets!

'Am I alone in finding Alan Boon's comment about his books being Valium disturbing? It smacks of the idea of medicating women into submission.'

There have certainly been feminist concerns about the uses of valium:

nitrazepamand diazepam, released in 1963 under the trade name Valium. It treated tension, anxiety, sleeplessness and neurosis. Valium was the top-selling pharmaceutical drug in the US throughout the 1970s. It was prescribed more to women than men.

Feminist writers of the time saw the vogue for minor tranquilisers as a mixed blessing. They said that it showed many women were dissatisfied with lives still mainly organised around Victorian stereotypes of the loving mother and the dutiful housewife. However, the popularity of Valium also suggested many women bowed to pressure from psychiatrists to treat their dissatisfaction as a medical problem. These feminists did not see dissatisfaction as something to be ‘cured’ by taking ‘happy pills’. They saw it as a political problem to be solved through activism and social change. (Science Museum)

On the other hand, I think to some extent my reading of romances (which have a guaranteed 'optimistic' element) could perhaps be seen as a form of self-medication and, despite the concerns I raised in this post about possible negative 'side effects', I continue to read romance rather than other literary genres, at least partly because I feel romances are more likely to make me feel happy.

'Even though its effects may be good, fiction lies. Isn't achieving a good effect through bad means amoral? Plato thought so.'

I have to disagree with you, and with Plato, about the nature of fiction. How is it lying? It seems to me that if a reader is aware that what they are reading is a fiction, there is no lie. I think literature can function as a way for authors and readers to explore emotional truths, think about what is true or false, and imagine new ways of being. Fiction may in some ways be quite similar to thought experiments:

Thought experiments are devices of the imagination used to investigate the nature of things. We need only list a few of the well-known thought experiments to be reminded of their enormous influence and importance in the sciences: Newton's bucket, Maxwell's demon, Einstein's elevator, Heisenberg's gamma-ray microscope, Schrödinger's cat. The same can be said for their importance in philosophy. Much of ethics, philosophy of language, and philosophy of mind is based firmly on the results of thought experiments. (Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy)

Obviously, I think fiction can do all those things also. But it is never "real." Because of that it need not have a conscience. Right and wrong can be described with little concern for effects exactly because readers see it as fiction, know it's unreal. And that's my point about romance fiction, as well. The HEA forces authors to lay aside justice in favor of Crusie's emotional justice. And I don't think most readers, myself included, would have it any other way.

"All pleasure, suggests Tertullian (perhaps in echo of Plato), is disquieting, even when experienced in moderation and calm, but the theater, with its excitements and its maddened crowds, deliberately aims to provoke frenzy. It is the frenzy itself, in fact, that draws spectators, for how else [to] explain the audience's mindless absorption in the imaginary fortunes of nonexistent characters? Even if the theater specialized in tales of innocence it would be a seduction and a snare. [...] He will allow no distinction between homo ludens and homo laborans, no real of play in which feigning is recognized as the rule of a game. [...] To portray a murder is as wicked as to commit one, even if in the first case the murdered man gets up, walks off, and drinks a pint of ale with his assassin. And as wicked as either the real murderer or his scenical counterfeit is the spuriously innocent spectator, whose soul is delightedly following the motions of the enacted crime." (45-46)

I came back to this conversation because I'm currently reading a romance featuring a depressed heroine: The Last Good Man by Kathleen Eagle. I'm not finished, so I don't know what the outcome is going to be. It's an interesting book though. The heroine is listless, selfish and not doing a great job as a mother, all pretty serious no-nos in a romance.

I was quite happy with it. The heroine is not magically cured by the hero, but gradually works herself back into engaging in life. Eagle's style is very lively, so the book wasn't a drag to read. My full review here: http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/324480527

Thanks for the link to the review. Judging by what you wrote there, it seems as though the heroine's selfishness was a feature of her character long before she became depressed, whereas the listlessness and parenting problems are the result of the depression.